


If My Thoughts Are Ugly (Does That Make Me Ugly?)

by fakeboi



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans!Richard, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeboi/pseuds/fakeboi
Summary: Richard has gotten pretty good at packing up and leaving everything behind, apart from everything that comes afterwards. He's learned to evade a world that's out to get him, but isn't so sure what to do when it's not. Vignettes from Richard's life as a bitter trans man. Title is from Not So Body Posi After All by Sledding With Tigers.





	1. They'll Hurt Me Bad (But I Won't Mind)

Richard had hoped that dropping out of college would end the worry, the fear, the sense of inadequacy that permeated every aspect of his life. The nausea that started in the pit of his stomach, and spread until he was lightheaded and sick all over. But that gut feeling had just returned, and Richard felt an afterimage of catastrophe buzzing in his ears, a bitter realization that he couldn't start fresh, not really. He shielded his face from the sun, and felt the heat seeping in through the jacket that he found to be a necessary barrier between his body and the rest of the world.

He pulled his luggage with one hand, in a gray wheeled suitcase that clicked as it moved, sounding like a shoulder being dislocated. It made this sound every time he hit a crack in the sidewalk, the small bag bouncing slightly, and making him wince until he got used to it. If packing up and moving to Palo Alto had really been a good idea, he thought, then why did his bright future fit inside such a tiny fucking bag? Richard had thrown out most of his old clothes before going to college. Blouses, florals, leggings, skirts. The lightness of his luggage had been encouraging at the time, as if he could shove his entire so-called high school experience into a metal donation box outside Target and forget about it.

But the remnants of the process now mostly reminded him of what was missing. The new wardrobe he'd never purchased, the new life he hadn't built for himself. Richard took his jacket off and tied it around his neck, thinking of prep-school kids in movies and glancing nervously at his chest. He couldn't decide which was worse, sweating through the armpits of the jacket, or walking around in a t-shirt that wouldn't stop clinging to his skin. He was glad that he'd at least put sunscreen on his arms, and he tried to focus on that small success as he kept shuffling towards his goal, staring down at his phone. He had a compass app open, pointing east to the “hacker hostel” of Erlich Bachman.

Richard felt uneasy about the man based on their online communications, but he was the cheapest, most convenient option available. He shoved his phone into his pocket, and tried to psych himself up for his new beginning. It was useless, because even a flood of positive self-talk couldn't submerge the stubborn worry floating around his mind. When he arrived, he paused to try and push down the handle of his suitcase. He kept shaking the thing, standing bent over and confused and desperate to go inside.

Then Richard realized that there was a button on the top of the handle that he needed to hold down, the same as on every rolling suitcase he'd ever seen or owned. He stood at the door without knocking, and took off his pin to straighten it. He carefully adjusted it for maximum visibility, making sure that the words "he/him/his" were clearly visible on its convex light blue surface. It made Richard feel exposed, but he knew that it didn't raise any questions not already answered by his appearance. 

He wondered what he was so worried about, what he expected to happen. Everyone had always asked him, and he had always said "I don't know," still while thinking of the absolute worst possibility. The absolute worst possibility was a snake eating its own tail, a self-fulfilling prophecy. He was terrified not just that everything would go wrong, but that it would also be completely his fault. Richard raised a hand to ring the doorbell, but the door swung open before he did, and he jumped backwards in reaction. A little too far, and too quickly. He stumbled, and leaned onto the frame of the door, which put him uncomfortably close to the man who had answered it.

The man wore a kimono, and smelled of Old Spice and marijuana. Richard backed away, more slowly this time, and extended a hand tentatively. The last thing he wanted was any kind of physical contact, but he already felt uneasy enough about the first impression he was making. Richard knew that his presence in the Valley was strange by default, and he didn't want to be any stranger. He also knew he wasn't succeeding in that respect.

"Richard Hendricks," Richard said, trying to suppress his visceral dislike of the way his voice sounded.

"You? You're Richard Hendricks? I... Erlich Bachman," said Erlich, his cool expression melting away to reveal genuine confusion. He looked Richard up and down, lingering at the pronoun button. Richard bared his teeth in a nervous approximation of a smile, and wiped his damp hands across his t-shirt.

"Really, don't worry about it," said Erlich, "I have slept with a lot of transsexual women." Richard's fake grin transformed into a gaping stare, as he furrowed his brow and opened his mouth. He wanted to say something, but his frantic ideas refused to cohere. Erlich recognized Richard's dismay, but was as unsure about how to quiet it as he was about how he'd caused it. Their silence was interrupted by another man coming to the door, who had bushy black eyebrows and wore a striped polo shirt.

"Erlich, what the fuck? Are you just talking about your sexual history to anyone who comes through the... oh," said the man, noticing Richard's pin.

"That's even grosser, actually. I'm Dinesh," he continued. Richard raised his eyebrows and looked away, shaking his head as he spoke.

"No, just... you know what, it's fine. I've heard way, way worse," he said. Dinesh wedged himself partway past Erlich.

"Well, get used to it, because for some reason he has to bring up his porn habits every time somebody calls him a bigot," said Dinesh.

"I'm not discussing porn, I am discussing relevant erotic experiences," Erlich replied.

"There is literally no way that was relevant," Dinesh said.

"You know, I really just want to unpack my stuff," said Richard, putting a foot forward. He uneasily shifted back and forth, while Dinesh kept sending aside glances to Richard and shaking his head, as if the two of them were in on a joke. Richard felt shaky and tired, and just wanted to wheel his suitcase in, say hi to Bighead, and collapse onto a bed. Finally, after another moment of silence that no one was able to fill, Erlich moved from the door and let Richard inside.

"Thanks. Sorry," Richard mumbled. He lifted his suitcase inside, and walked quickly to the stairs, breathing in the house's cool air.

"Oh, it's the new guy," said a bearded man with glasses, twisting his head away from his work. He had a coffee mug in his hand that read "Jesus Hates You", and a slight, snide smile on his face that Richard just barely detected.

"I heard your conversation out there, guess some people can't be bothered to read a man's LinkedIn page. Do a background check before your next Tinder date kills you in your sleep," he said to Erlich. Then he turned back to his computer, and took a long sip of his coffee.

"Not that you should worry about that, Dinesh," he continued, in an even tone of voice "and by the way, Richard Hendricks, welcome to this shithole." Richard laughed nervously on purpose, just to be sure that he was displaying some kind of reaction. His knees protested as he climbed the stairs, and heard a muffled clattering that he knew must be Bighead. Bighead's footsteps drew closer, until Richard could see him at the top of the stairs. He had an orange Crush in his hand, and his red jacket looked a little rumpled.

"Just knocked over a lamp, sorry. Wait, no, that's not your lamp, that's my lamp, fuck. But how's life, though? Not related, but y'know, just wanna see how you're doing," said Bighead. He was staring at a point above Richard's head, his eyes unfocused. Richard stared at Bighead's shirt collar.

"Kind of shitty, but, um, that's life, right? Had to hear my mom scream at me over the phone for two hours. She told me to 'look in the mirror, you're a woman, girl,' whatever the actual fuck that means. Like, is she an-- an eighties pop song, or something? I don't know," Richard said, lapsing into a mutter as a lump rose in his throat.

"That's sucky, sounds rough. Sorry you have to deal with her," said Bighead. Richard scaled the last step and stumbled to the side, crunching up against the wall to pass by Bighead, although they wouldn't have bumped into each other either way. Bighead went in for a hug, but Richard put up a hand and stepped past him. Bighead simply nodded and waved, and although Richard scrutinized his expression for disappointment, he couldn't find it. This was normal for them, and Richard was comforted by the convenience, although not by what it said about him personally.

"That's life," Bighead repeated. Richard didn't look back, and continued to stumble down the corridor in search of a quick nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Kiss Off by the Violent Femmes.


	2. I'm Too Tired For The Truth

Richard and Jared both had their feet in Erlich's pool. Jared's were stock still, and Richard was a little guilty that he kept kicking, jerking his feet up at the ankles and working up a light spray. Dead leaves danced across the fluorescent-bright pool, and the warm wind of late August buffeted the two men's hair. 

"It's called being happy, Jared. People do it sometimes. I-- sorry, was that mean?" said Richard. Jared looked up at the sky, and his smile broadened. Richard was nauseous, and couldn't help but feel that he wasn't enjoying the moment correctly. 

That even with his hand centimeters from Jared's, the space between them seemed dull instead of charged. And Richard wondered if it had always been that way, if that immovable, heart-bursting tension was something he'd absorbed from books and movies, if his feelings for Jared were just transcriptions from an inanimate flicker of dusty pages and bright screens, burrowing, overtaking, and blooming. Until Richard couldn't tell what was his anymore, didn't know if his love was only a theory, and this was only another story that he didn't belong in.

"No, not at all. I haven't felt like this in a very long time. Like I could just swallow the stars. I can't see them here, of course, but you know. Be one with the world," he said, running a hand through his formerly-impeccable hair. Richard had the sensation of floating away. He imagined Jared waving goodbye, the same enthused, yet contemplative expression inappropriately plastered onto the facsimile's face.

"Sorry, I'm a mess," Jared continued, after a brief pause. He bared his teeth in one of his weird, v-shaped smiles, and flashed a glance at Richard, who felt a chill rush down his spine. He realized that he hadn't looked Jared in the eye their entire conversation. 

"No, you're not, Jared. You're, you've got all these... I don't know. I want to feel the way you do," Richard said. 

"Feel how, Richard?" said Jared. 

"Strongly! Like I said, the way you do, and-- and don't say I do too, because it's not the same thing. My emotions just slide around, like, on a scale. Good, bad, whatever. I mean, fuck, they don't mean anything," Richard replied. Jared looked at Richard with his eyes wide, as if Richard had instead told him "I want to jump from a very high place and break my neck".

"Richard, of course your emotions mean something," he said, raising a hand to indicate that Richard shouldn't interrupt. Richard was swallowing his replies anyway, garbled and lost ones, and they all reminded him of a bad dream he'd been having for a while. One where he faced somebody-- his boss at Hooli, his parents, even Bighead-- and screamed "ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!", while his voice never gave out, until he woke up.

"They're not... necessarily correct, but they're what you're experiencing. They're your lens," said Jared. Richard waited for the fog to lift from his eyes and for the tremor in his feet to steady, as Jared gazed at him with a level of concern Richard couldn't comprehend. Richard waited for a moment of clarity, and it didn't come. 

"Yeah, I, you're probably right, I... sorry," he said. 

"It's not your fault. I'm sorry too," said Jared. Richard wished he could say "you should be", even though Jared was trying to help. But he couldn't smother the thoughts awake in Richard's brain, and bring them back to life as better ones. Richard figured that the mediocre blur he was living through was how it'd always been, only he'd been too busy to notice it before. 

"Do you need anything?" asked Jared. Richard didn't think he did, really, but he knew that Jared wanted him to ask for something. 

"I, um, something to drink?" Richard asked. 

"No alcohol," said Jared hurriedly. Richard twitched his head back and forth rapidly, and watched himself in the dim water. Dark circles, sharp movements. He was sure he looked scary, like the platonic ideal of a head case, his face betraying these emotions he wasn't even sure he had. He couldn't imagine how to fix that.

"No, no, of course not, jeez," he said. He tried to remember what Jared would want, and drew a blank. Jared always wanted to hear from Richard, and didn't talk about himself. At first, Richard hadn't minded. There was a long pause.

"Would tea be all right?" asked Jared.

"Sure," said Richard.

"Do you want a specific kind, or--" Jared said, before Richard cut him off. 

"No. I mean, sorry. No, just get me whatever you're having," Richard said.

"Okay, Richard," said Jared, his eyes darting nervously to Richard's hands. Then Richard stood up to follow him inside, and he watched the tension leak out of Jared's movements. Richard ran his hand through his hair, and gritted his teeth behind his lips. He was afraid Richard would what, drown himself while Jared was getting a cup of tea?

"Jared, you know, I'm fine. It's not like I'm really dealing with anything. I'm okay, it's really nothing," said Richard.

"Richard, at the very least, you are under a lot of stress. You do need help," said Jared. Jared stood up a little straighter as he spoke, and it made Richard's insides hurt that Jared was standing up to him for this. For him, of all things. 

"I'm not stressed, I'm busy. It's not worth it. Can't we just... can't we just have this, for a second?" Richard said.

"I don't want to offend you, but I don't feel like you're here right now. I don't feel like you're having this at all," Jared replied. Richard felt that he was uncovered in that moment, was raw. As if someone were scrubbing away at layers of dead skin, sluicing off gross, whitish pieces of him. He felt dirty, but in a way, he was glad that Jared had noticed. The sad nature of the moment was part of it now, and Jared saw it too. It was something empty, but it was also something shared. If their night together wasn't a satisfying experience, Richard at least tentatively believed that it was one that wouldn't have been better alone. 

"I don't know. I don't know. Maybe you're right," he said. Jared beckoned him inside to the poorly lit house, the quiet buzz of computers barely keeping it from silence. There was a light on in the living room, but whoever was inside didn't react to them entering the kitchen. Jared's wet feet quietly slapped on the hard floor, leaving a trail of shimmering damp footprints. Richard gazed at them, conscious of the water pooling under his own feet. Jared ran the sink, and the scent of unwashed dishes wafted through the air as the faucet rushed. 

"It's okay if you're not happy right now, Richard," Jared murmured, "In my experience, it can take some time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally gave you guys the Jarrich in the tags, even if it's not the happiest. The chapter title is from "I'm Not A Good Person" by Pat The Bunny.

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a set-up chapter, and any future chapters will probably be Richard hanging out with the main crew at various points in time, plus a chapter of him working at Hooli.


End file.
